


What Is And What Should Never Be

by astano



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astano/pseuds/astano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The darkness makes it easier somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is And What Should Never Be

**Author's Note:**

> Set around the episode with Erica’s dream, and so does not take into account canon after that time.

The dreams have been coming every night for weeks now. Erica wakes up wet and aching, part of her relieved to hear the sound of her alarm, the rest just wanting to slip back off to sleep, to let Franky finish what she’d started.

She’s so tired of spending every day balancing on the edge of arousal. The lingering memories from her dreams are constantly brought to the forefront of her mind with every look from Franky, and the slightest brush of their bodies sparks almost uncontrollable heat through her every nerve.

When fucking Mark isn’t enough to help, she gives in, touches herself in the shower almost every morning, biting down hard on her lip to stifle the sounds she can’t contain, because Mark’s still out there, and he can’t hear her, she can’t explain this to him.

That doesn’t help either. Not completely, anyway. But most days, as it does today, it eases the feelings enough that she feels somewhat confident in her ability to get through the day without succumbing to the need to touch herself during work. That was enough to make her realise something had to give. That and everything with Mark later.

~

When she gets to the prison, Franky’s outside with the other women, and, just like she’s got some sort of sixth sense, almost as soon as Erica's through the gate, she looks up, catching Erica’s gaze. Unable to look away, Erica stands, helpless, as Franky runs over to the fence, smiling at her the entire time. It’s the same smile she wears in Erica’s dream, right before the part where she asks Erica what she wants. Right before Erica wakes up every single time. It’s like dream-Franky is trying to tell her something. _Make up your mind_ , she’s saying. _Decide what you want from me_. Only what Erica wants, what she will admit to herself she wants, and what she can have are all entirely different things, and she _knows_ that. 

But Franky’s gripping the chain-link fence, fingers looping casually through the holes, and opening her mouth to say hello, and all Erica can remember is the promise of those fingers skirting over her body, the press of Franky’s mouth against her skin.

It's all too much, but she doesn't have the first idea of how to make it go away.

~

She doesn't see Franky again until later that day, which is really something she should be thankful for, but there's no denying the tight feeling she gets in her chest when Franky saunters through into the library and takes a seat, leaning back casually in the chair next to her.

"Have you given anymore thought about what you might want to study?" Erica asks. "As we discussed before, there isn't long to go before the deadline for applications.” 

For once, Franky looks thoughtful. Erica knows that despite everything, Franky does want this, wants to do better for herself. It's the reason why, against her better judgement, she keeps these meetings—and the tutoring—going. It would be so easy to stop, so easy to deny the time they spend together, but that wouldn’t be fair to Franky. 

But of course, Franky then smirks, and Erica knows she’s going to say something inappropriate—another thing she’s going to have to pretend doesn’t affect her in the slightest—but before she can actually say anything, the room is pitched into darkness.

She hears Franky shift slightly beside her, and almost reaches out a hand before remembering herself and just sitting up a little straighter in her chair. “Back-up power should be on in a second,” she says. “Just sit tight.”

Only it doesn’t kick in, and a minute later, they’re still sitting in darkness, and Erica realises something must have gone wrong. She also realises they’re stuck in the library until the problem is fixed, because the doors won’t open without power, and the manual override is on the other side.

She reaches into her jacket pocket for her mobile and says, “I’m going to see if I can find out what’s happening.” She thinks Franky nods—can just see the slight blur of her head moving slowly in front of her from the dim glow of the single emergency light above the door.

Five minutes later, she realises no one seems to know why there’s no power, but things are apparently under control. There’s nothing she can do from here, so she has to be content with the knowledge that someone is working on getting things sorted, even if no one has an idea of how long it’s going to take.

“Guess we’re just gonna have to find some way to keep ourselves entertained for a while,” Franky says once Erica’s ended the call.

“Franky...”

“Hey,” Franky says. “I was gonna suggest I Spy, but what you were thinking would be a lot more fun.”

“I didn’t—we _can’t_ , Franky.” She knows immediately that was the wrong thing to say, because _we can’t_ is only a small step away from admitting that she _wants_ to, and all the denial she’s shrouded herself in whenever Franky’s tried her hardest to provoke a reaction suddenly means nothing at all.

She hears Franky shift in her seat again, and then there are fingertips stroking lightly against the inside of her thigh. “You want to.”

Franky’s voice is close—too close—and all it would take would be for Erica to turn her head slightly and give in. The movement of Franky’s hand stops before it’s anywhere near to where Erica needs it, and a large part of her aches for Franky to just take what she wants—what they both want—so she can absolve herself of any guilt, because she wasn’t the one who started it, but Franky just waits. She waits until the tension in the room is so thick, until Erica’s head is so clouded by the thrum of arousal that’s been a backdrop to her every day since even before the dreams started, until it’s too much for her to take, and all she can manage is an almost broken sounding _please_.

The reality of kissing Franky is not at all like in her dreams, but Erica finds herself just as helpless against the press of Franky’s lips covering her own. Even more so when Franky’s fingers start moving again—tracing maddening patterns over her thigh, pressing up under her skirt as far as the material will allow, but it’s never far enough.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Franky murmurs against her mouth. “About how much you want me to touch you?”

Too long, Erica thinks. Too long to pay any attention at all to the rational part of her brain that’s crying out in protest. She whimpers when Franky finally edges her skirt up enough to stroke determined fingers against her through her underwear, and tilts her head back to give Franky’s mouth access to her throat.

“Just let me,” Franky says.

She can’t hide anything anymore. It’s completely useless when Franky can feel how wet she is—her arousal easily soaking through the thin material of her underwear—and the hitch in her breath, the way she’s forced to say _please_ for a second time when Franky does nothing but tease her fingers against her for long seconds, all contradict every single time she’s told Franky her advances do absolutely nothing for her.

The darkness makes it easier somehow, when Franky slips down between her legs, to just lift up and let her underwear be pulled downwards, to bunch her skirt up higher, so when Franky runs palms back upwards, thumbs pressing insistently against the inside of her thighs, they part effortlessly at her touch.

She reaches out blindly, covering one of Franky’s hands with her own. Franky says her name, low and urgent, and Erica squeezes tighter against Franky’s hand. It’s almost like it was the permission Franky was waiting for, because she’s immediately pressing heated kisses against Erica’s skin. Erica groans, feels her eyes slip shut involuntarily as Franky’s mouth moves higher and higher until her tongue’s finally stroking through Erica’s folds, hot and wet and better than anything Erica could have ever dreamt up because it’s _real_.

“What are you doing to me?” She murmurs. “God, Franky. I—” Franky does something with her tongue, presses inside her with two fingers, and Erica cuts herself off with moan that sounds almost unrecognisable to her own ears. 

The slow push of Franky’s fingers feels so good that she can barely breathe, and she whimpers _oh, God_ again and again, reaching out with her free hand to touch the back of Franky’s head, tangling her fingers in Franky’s hair and tugging gently. Franky moans against her, like she’s actually enjoying this as much as Erica is. 

It’s too much, weeks—maybe months if she’s completely honest—of pent up frustration leaving her constantly on edge, and now, when she’s finally broken, when she’s finally given into the feeling, she’s terrified she’s not going to last. Already, she can feel her body tensing, straining up desperately against Franky’s mouth, her fingers, waiting for that last push to send her over.

In the end, all it takes is Franky murmuring her name again before rubbing her tongue over Erica’s clit and curling her fingers in a way that shatters Erica in seconds.

Her orgasm is so hard—goes on for so long—that she’s dizzy by the end of it. Franky works her through it all, coaxes more out of her until she thinks she might pass out because she hasn’t been able to catch her breath once.

She whimpers Franky’s name, tugs against her hair again until Franky gets the hint and kneels up straight, letting Erica’s hands guide them into a kiss. Erica feels another jolt when she realises she can taste herself on Franky’s lips, and it’s something that has never been a turn on before, but now she’s thinking about how Franky might taste, and she’s never wanted anything more than to find out.

She’s halfway to reaching out when the lights blink back on, startling them both to stillness. It takes a few seconds, but with the lights there seems to come a sharp dose of reality, and Erica jerks backwards, letting her hands fall, trying to distance herself from Franky, from what she was just about to do.

She looks down at the floor, at the wall behind Franky’s head, anywhere that means she doesn’t have to meet Franky’s gaze. “I need to go,” she says, abruptly, standing and straightening out her clothes before taking a step towards the door. “I’ll have one of the officers come by to escort you back to your block.”

She doesn’t wait for Franky to reply—can’t wait—just strides quickly across the room and reaches for the door. And although she tries her hardest not to look, the last thing Erica sees before she locks the door behind her is the hurt look in Franky’s eyes.

 


End file.
